Virgin Cold
by Erkiulis
Summary: Our heroes find themselves in the clutches of the freezing cold, ensnaring with its sickening icy grip, disturbing case and flaming vengeance.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All the characters related to CSI: NY belong to ****Anthony Zuiker and CBS.**

**Summary: Our heroes find themselves in the clutches of the freezing cold, ensnaring with its sickening icy grip, disturbing case and flaming vengeance.**

**Author's note: I'm a newly founded admirer of fan fiction presenting you with my very first attempt of a multichapter story of questionable artistic merits for the great CSI: NY. Please forgive me for any mistakes I made and will probably make as English is not my native language. Comments always appreciated.**

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><p><strong>Virgin Cold<strong>

Chapter 1

_This is CKNY and I'm Rebecca Simmons with Monday weather report. Unfortunately, o__ur meteorologists suggest that the freezing cold will hold the New York City captive for another week. Right now, two hours till midnight, the temperature is minus 6 and is expected to drop by minus 10 by morning. Heavy snow..._

It's damn cold, but it doesn't really bother me. I'm watching the snowflakes dancing in the air with admiration. It's been long, too long, when I could watch them dance or feel their tender touch on my skin. I even accept the biting cold as a somewhat new, fresh sensation among the sea of long-missed sensations welcoming me back.

The girl hipswinging around the New York map disappeared from the TV screen. Neatly combed dark hair, tight blue suit perfectly fitting her curves, her ripe breasts… Surely, she is pretty, but she doesn't allure me. Too old for my taste. Too impure.

I take some of the cake the waitress brought me. A very tiny bit, enjoying its rich chocolate taste. Hungry, god, I'm so hungry, but I'll have to wait for my favourite dessert nonetheless. I've lived 15 years in my tormented lustful yearnings and pain, guess I'll manage to wait a couple more hours. Now it's not the time to rush succumbing to temptations. Those 15 years taught me how to plan well, and rashness would only spoil the purpose I'm here, sitting by the window of this café, across the building I loathe, waiting to see the man I loathe. The dim-witted man who took everything from me: my career, my family, my good name, even the ground I walked and the air I breathed. You think you've outsmarted me, you bastard, don't you? Well too bad, you've no idea what awaits you. You'll pay for every minute I let out a cry of pain, humiliation or misery in those 15 years, I can promise you that.

Unnerved, I clench my fist as tightly as I can, until it hurts. I take a sip of cappuccino and close my eyes in sudden delight invading my palate and relaxing me in an instant. Only briefly though, I cannot miss him. I finish my cappuccino, latte, then mocaccino. In those 4 hours I'm lurking for that bastard, a mass of people have left the building propping their collars, tightening their scarfs, embracing themselves for the harsh weather. But not him! Damn it, are you even there? I've already wasted too much time. My frustration reminds me how irritably hungry I am it fucking numbs my mind. No, I need my mind sharp, need to control my temper, need to focus.

And here I finally notice him. That son-of-a-bitch wearily stepping out of the building followed by a woman with curly hair. Oh, why so weary, Taylor, huh? Tiresome day? I'll make sure you'll see how much tiresome they can be, I laugh to myself.

I see Taylor and his female companion stop for a while, she says him something, timidly smiles while touching his cheek and looking him in the eye. Well how cute. He then simply nods, takes her gently by her arm, walks her to the cab and waves her goodbye. Stares at the cab pulling off for a normally too long, in my opinion, moment, then wraps his coat tighter around him, turns around and heads down the street. Not afraid of the cold, aren't you, detective? Doesn't matter, you'll learn what fear is, once a brilliant teacher, I still know my job.

I quickly pay for my order and politely thank the waitress, as every well-educated and mannered customer is supposed to, and hasten my pace through the door. The wind blows me all through, to the very bone, while I'm following Taylor's footsteps, but I don't care. I'm in a festive mood today. Head of the Crime Lab beheaded, ha, the irony that lies in the play of words amuses me. Yeah, you'll get what you deserve, Taylor, and I'll get my dessert. The sweetie chosen from the menu is already waiting for me and the most sweat vengeance is also drawing near. Can you feel it, Taylor? 'Cause I can. I feel it in my aging bones already getting pierced with icy coldness. Soon, Taylor, soon.

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><p>Mac Taylor slowly paces down the street in a desperate attempt to ease the splitting headache and clear his mind. From everything – his own continuous misery, quarrel with Sinclair this afternoon, and then the torrent of cases, starting from Friday's strained drug raid, some punk shooting his class-mates and teachers at school for their failure to show him respect, meaningless bloodshed for 14 pitiful dollars, and then this weekend's another outbreak of a serial killer slaughtering his victims like pigs. And they still haven't found that butcher, with so much evidence, yet leading to nowhere. They're in a dead-end, while he perhaps is already putting edge on his knife. Perhaps he shouldn't have left the lab, he sighs. If he looked through the evidence once more, perhaps he would find something they might have missed. That little something could turn out to be crucial for finding out the location of the slaughterhouse, well, if not the location, then at least something that would enable them to get closer. Something… Anything..! Or at least he could finish with the enormous pile of papers waiting for his signature, the same papers he should have dealt with today, but instead left them aside when a worried Stella came to escort him out.<p>

"_Mac, it's almost midnight, what are you still doing here?" It wasn't even a question really. It's not the first time Mac's neglecting himself, but she still isn't exactly sure whether she's more angry or concerned._

"_Well, I can ask you the same question, Stella," Mac retorts already having a good idea where this conversation leads._

"_My shift's just ended and, if I remember well, yours ended in the yesterday's afternoon. Am I right?" Seeing how he uncomfortably shifts in his chair, Stella shakes her head in disbelief, of course she's right. "So you haven't slept in how many, more than 48 hours? Mac, you can't carry on like this."_

_Mac tiredly rubs his eyes. "Stella, I don't need another lecture. I'm not a child, I can take care of myself."_

"_Well then do it!" Stella snaps, but her tone quickly softens. "For God's sake, Mac, you're dead on your feet."_

"_It's a good thing that at the present moment I don't actually need to be on my feet, I can do my job well enough behind this desk, while sitting steadily on this chair. Don't worry, I'm not going to fall over. Besides, these are not going to fill themselves, you know", Mac huffs while referring to the stack of papers mounted on his desk._

"_Not funny. C'mon, Mac. These are not the top priority and I'm sure can wait until tomorrow. Your health, however, is a top priority. Please, Mac, let's go home," Stella looks at him pleadingly. And he resigns, takes his coat and they both head out of the lab._

_She looks intently in the ocean of his tired eyes, tenderly caresses his cheek which, she notices, already needs a shave and asks, "Promise me you'll get some sleep."_

And he did promise her. He promised her just because she asked. How can he break it now? He can't, and here he is, going home, instead of making himself useful.

He could still feel Stella's gentle, warm touch on his rough cheek. Stella. Worried about him. He'd like to linger on the soft sensation of her fingers on his skin, but when he starts shivering with cold, he begins to wonder whether wandering the streets in the freezing cold was such a good idea after all, and curses himself for his… wisdom, so to say. He therefore decides to act wise and hails a cab home before he could freeze over. Still deep in his thoughts, he does not notice the subtle dance of the snowflakes in the air, nor does he notice the face watching the cab moving away with cold, hateful eyes.

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><p>Soon, Taylor, oh so soon. But now, let the feast begin – I notice my sweetie scurrying in the playground near the house as if frantically searching for something. Yeah, today it's a great day.<p>

"Hey, little girl, what are you doing so late outside? It's not safe. Who knows who could be hiding behind the corner in the dark? Here, let me walk you home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All the characters related to CSI: NY belong to ****Anthony Zuiker and CBS.**

**Summary: Our heroes find themselves in the clutches of the freezing cold, ensnaring with its sickening icy grip, disturbing case and flaming vengeance.**

**Author's note: thank you, tlh45, csi-ncis, Sam Waterston Fan, Lilmizmoz, Mahala, gluegirl56 and lily moonlight for your lovely and encouraging reviews. And here's the next chapter. Tell me what you think!**

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><p><strong>Virgin Cold<strong>

Chapter 2

The next morning – or was it still night, he couldn't tell the difference as it was still dark – Mac wakes with a start. This time it wasn't because of his continuing nightmares haunting him in his scarce sleep, forcing him to relive the moments he'd like to push in the furthest corner of his subconsciousness so that they would finally stop hurting and crippling him. He wasn't even sure if he did, in fact, catch any dream, it seemed as if he closed his eyes only a minute ago. Still, the all too familiar sound he'd prefer not to hear at ungodly hours keeps ringing through his aching skull, so he picks up the phone with a heavy sigh.

"Taylor." Mac groggily says while willing himself out of his sleepy fog and wrapping himself out of the warm nest of his blankets.

"Hey, Mac. You okay? You sound a bit…"

"I just woke up, Don. I'm fine, what is it?"

"Well sorry to wake you up this early, but we've got a dead little body in the yard of a primary school. Thought you'd want to see it. Stella's also coming."

"I'll soon be there."

"Just so you know, I'm beginning to freeze my butt off down here, so if, by any chance, you happen to stop by Starbucks to get yourself a coffee, I could really use one too. Really, Mac, you should treat yourself a cup of steaming coffee a cold morning like this."

"I got your hint, Don, alright."

"Thanks, buddy."

Some time later Mac lowers his feet out of his Avalanche onto the crunchy snow carrying two take-away cups of coffee and heads towards Don and Stella, obviously waiting for him. He hands a cup to each with a casual "Morning".

"Good morning, and where's yours?" Stella inquires noticing only two cups.

"Oh long gone. Wasn't that patient. So how's your butt, Don?" Mac humours as he sees Flack grab his coffee with an enlightened face.

"Still intact, thanks to you." Don laughs.

"Have I missed something here?" Stella confusedly questions, amused by the unexpected topic of the conversation and takes a sip of her coffee.

"Ask Flack," Mac huffs. "Alright, back to business. What've we got?"

"An hour ago we got a call. The school keeper was going to dig the snow out off the roadway before the morning lessons start and found a dead girl on the swing in the playground." Don explained, leading the way to the scene. "No other witnesses. The school's deserted at night. Even the night watchman hasn't noticed a thing. If he was watching, of course, he apparently was more into TV."

"Do we know who she is?"

"Not yet. She's got nothing on her to ID her. Well, you'll see… I… better go and check what else our witness knows." Don excuses himself from the crime scene. He doesn't want Mac to notice that he isn't quite comfortable with the case. Well, he's never really comfortable around dead bodies, but he's a cop for god's sake, and he manages just fine. But dead children… this is just too much.

Mac and Stella both carefully encircle the scene. The view is shocking. Highly disturbing. Even for the two detectives who, in their line of duty, have seen a great number of cases and, therefore, dead bodies. But not that many of them were young innocent children. _Guess you can never get used to something like that_.

The girl was propped on the swing in a sitting position. Her pale body naked with only her panties left. Her little head with blond pigtails tied with rosy ribbons resting against the chain. And her gaze – empty and lifeless. Mac pulls himself out of his daze and carefully approaches the victim. _Female, Caucasian, 7 to 10 years old_ – he tries to remain professional. If it's hard for him, Stella must take it even harder. She always does when the cases involve children. He takes a quick look towards Stella who's still clutching her cup, which no longer provides the soothing warmth to her body and mind.

"I'll take the body, Stella, you take the perimeter."

"What..? Yeah…" But instead of looking around the crime scene, she nears the girl.

"Stella…"

"Look, Mac. Clearly, this is not the primary crime scene. I hardly imagine anyone killing, undressing… the girl in the open, in the freezing cold. Besides, with the rate the snow is falling, the bootprints of the killer are no longer seen and the only bootprints still visible are the keeper's and ours. I'll take a look around, but I think nothing will tell us more than the body." Stella nervously bursts gripping her camera.

Mac coughs, "Yes. The weather's not on our side today. Let's hope the security footage will help us more."

"She's all covered in bruises. That son of a bitch beat her. How can you beat a child like that?"

"She probably resisted. See? There are defensive wounds. The girl tried to defend herself. There might be the killer's skin tissues under her fingernails."

Stella takes the girl's little lifeless hand in hers while Mac continues to examine the rest of her body. "There are. But her hand… It's sticky and smells of… honey?"

"She's all sticky. So he rubbed her in honey. Forced her in that sick game of his. He beat her because she resisted, didn't want to play. He… he got aroused, there are lacerations on her upper tights, blood on her panties... Jesus."

"There are bite marks on her skin too." Comes Stella's somewhat shaky remark.

Mac takes off his gloves and tiredly rubs his face. "Well, at least that means there's plenty of trace for us to work on."

"How, Mac? How can one do this to a child?"

"I don't know, Stell, I really don't."

"She has just started living..." Stella feels her eyes starting to prick at the despair of the unfairness of this world and the anger on the one who claims the power over other lives, who mercilessly molests, kills and then just leaves as if no big deal has ever happened.

"C'mon." Mac pulls Stella closer in his reassuring arms. "Let's not get too emotional, okay?" Mac coughs.

"It's cold. If we've finished here, let's get to the lab."

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><p>After the quiet ride, Stella and Mac arrive at the lab just minutes before their actual shift. The warm surroundings of the break room and the pleasurable sensation of the hot caffeinated liquid unfreezing the blood in the two detectives' veins prove to be a real salvation. At least for their bodies as their minds cannot find piece just yet.<p>

A lot of thoughts were humming in Stella Bonasera's mind. A sad image of today's violated little girl's body – _god, she was just a child_. Then there were flashes of images of what she could do to that pervert when they caught him, how she would like to inflict him the same pain and torment that he made the girl to suffer… She was a cop though, and she would not break the law, even if she wanted, but she'll make sure that he'll be locked up for good. In a place where there will be many willing to _show_ him love.

They were still waiting for all their team to arrive while drinking coffee and relishing its heat. Deep in her thoughts, Stella didn't notice how she gulped almost the whole cup, but then she glanced at her quite partner who seemed to be out of this world: his grip tight around the cup, coffee untouched and staring blankly at the liquid, probably not seeing anything.

"Mac."

"Huh?" Mac raises his bloodshot, as Stella notices, eyes.

"Already thought you were asleep with your eyes open." It was very likely, she thought, as she mentally did the arithmetic. Not too difficult as the numbers, sadly, were not high enough. He didn't get more than 5 hours of sleep last night, because that's exactly the amount of sleep she got, and yesterday they left the building at the same time. But adding that he hasn't slept in 48 hours before means that he got as little as 5 tiny hours of sleep in three intense days. _He's running on fumes_, she bites her lip.

"Even I can't do that, Stell."

"You cold?" She frowns.

"A bit, why?"

"You're holding your cup as if it's your lifeline." If he is trying to add the much needed, as it appears so, warmth, she doesn't think he got much success as the coffee must have already gone cold by this time. Now they are thankfully safe in the comfortably warm lap of their lab out of the big freeze outside, so since they're here, Mac surely should have got warm enough as well. But it seems he hasn't. In fact, he doesn't just look worn out anymore, he looks ill and she can't help the feeling that something's not right. "Mac, you alright? What is it?"

"What is what?" Mac shrugs. "It's nothing, I'm fine," Mac tries, yet his little but blatant lie is soon broken as he fails to stifle yet another cough and absentmindedly rubs his chest. _His chest hurts?_ Now she's really concerned.

"Mac, please, you don't look fine. It's actually very visible that you are not fine at all. You shouldn't work like this…" Stella shakes her head.

"You worry too much, Stell." Mac tiredly rubs his forehead, he doesn't want to feed Stella's concern, but this beating in his skull… just won't stop.

She reaches for his hand and finds it cold. "Hey… How are you feeling? Tell me, Mac."

"That honey…" Mac briefly closes his eyes. "I… have a terrible feeling of déjà vu."

_The hell_. Of course, that's not what she meant and the fact that he's not admitting that he's not well not only makes her worried but pissed as well. _For Christ's sake, Mac!_ But before she could confront him or say anything further, Danny, Flack and Sheldon burst through the door.

"Morning! Ahh, it's warm in here." Danny rejoices as he shakes the snow out of his hair.

Stella slowly turns her gaze from Mac and amusedly beams at Danny. "What happened to you?"

"Ask Flack. That moron just threw a snowball on me."

"Moron? C'mon, Danny. It was fun!"

"Yeah, to you. I'm the one who got a cold wet blow to the head."

"Close range, large calibre, Messer?" Flack laughs, obviously enjoying himself. Sheldon also shakes his head, smiling.

"Very funny. By the way, Mac, Lindsay will be late for half an hour or so. Our nanny's got sick so Linds is waiting for her friend to arrive. Some winter, huh?"

"It's okay, she can take her time if needed." Mac sighs. "We have a new case. I believe you've already heard."

"The girl on the swing? Yes, hard not to. It's all over the news." Sheldon remarks, then awards Mac a suspicious and serious look.

"Those media guys are driving me nuts." Flack adds. "I've shown the picture of the girl's face to the school's principal, she looked through the pupils' profiles and identified the victim as Molly Anderson, 7 years old. Just started school this fall. The family's being informed as we speak. Or mother only, I should say. Father died several years ago."

"Alright, Flack. The girl's mother has to identify her body nonetheless. I also want you to talk to Mrs Anderson, perhaps she noticed something unusual. Stella, you process the evidence we collected at the crime scene. Hawkes, I want you to help Sid with the autopsy. She was most definitely raped, run a rape kit. Look for any traces of foreign DNA on her body, the killer might possibly have licked the honey from her body, look for his saliva. You know what to do."

"I'm on it."

"Who'd do this to an eight-year-old child?" Danny is disgusted with the thought. "Jesus, if someone would do this to Luce… We're dealing with a damn sicko here."

Mac clenches his jaw. "Yes, we are… About the butcher case. Do we have any leads?"

"Not yet, boss. Though we found out that the knife was custom made, it's definitely a unique piece, not in the market. Once we found out who produced it, we'll get our killer. We're expecting the results of the test Adam's currently runnin' will lead us somewhere. "

"Good." Mac sighs. "We can't tear ourselves between two high profile cases at the same time. Danny, I want you, Lindsay and Adam focus on the butcher case. You're leading it now. Keep me informed though."

"You got it." Danny certifies, quite relieved to be dismissed. "Hey, what you're up to?" He inquires as Mac suddenly rises from his chair heading to the door.

"That honey… I think I've seen this before… I just can't put my finger on it yet. I need to go through all my cases."

"How many are there? Hundreds, thousands? It'll take ages, Mac!" Stella shouts as Mac slams through the door.

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><p>Just as Sheldon Hawkes left to process the evidence taken from the little Molly Anderson's body, Sid Hammerback waves Stella in his <em>lair<em>, he smiles to himself, or simply – his mortuary working space. He briefly watches Stella's curls, bouncing in the air, as she nears him.

"Did you actually know that curly hair is kidney-shaped? The way people name things is really interesting, don't you think?" Sid thinks more to himself than really expects an answer as he continues to examine the other victim's, some John Doe's, kidneys.

"I did, Sid. Though I like to think of my hair in other terms, you know." Stella smiles. "So what can you tell about the girl?"

"Oh, isn't Mac coming?"

"The last time I saw him he was dozing off behind his desk, so I thought I'd better not wake him up because I'm just not sure when there would be another time he allows himself to have a break. He barely sleeps."

"I'm finished here. Sew him up, Nancy, will you?" Sid addresses his assistant, then draws his eyes from John Doe's organs and looks up at Stella worriedly. "I haven't seen him for a while. Is he alright?"

"Oh don't you know Mac? He's fine! Just fine, as always." Stella utters, obviously annoyed. "I'm sorry, Sid, I didn't mean to snap at you, it's just… I'm worried about him. He keeps shutting me down by telling he's fine, but I don't really think he's feeling well, though he doesn't admit it of course. I hope he won't fall desperately ill by pushing on like this."

"I'll cast my medical eye on him when he comes." Sid nods.

"You do that, Sid." Stella sighs. "Alright, so what have we got about Molly Anderson?"

"A terrible loss I must say… COD's strangulation. Heavy bruising on the neck. We think she died around 3 a. m. this morning."

"Found an hour later. What about other bruises?"

"She took quite a beating with a large fist. One blow resulted in two broken ribs on her left side."

"The girl must have been in terrible pain." Stella curses. "Bastard…"

"Yes. She wasn't tied, as there are no any markings indicating that on her wrists or ankles. She was certainly raped, brutally, the mutilations, bruising and lacerations are clear evidences." Sid straightens his glasses on his nose. "But look at this…" Sid says as he removes the girl's panties exposing her pelvis.

"Oh my god." Stella gasps.

"I think Mac needs to see this."

"Needs to see what?" Mac interrupts as he enters the autopsy room and joins Sid and Stella at the cadaver dissection table. He looks at the letters mixed with blood and ink carved messily on the girl's body with his eyes widened and feels his heart plummet in his sore chest.

_Dear Mr Taylor,_

_It has been a while since our last encounter. I kept thinking of you. How do you like my delicious postgirl? I enjoyed her every bit. You will be hearing from me soon._

_Truly yours._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All the characters related to CSI: NY belong to ****Anthony Zuiker and CBS.**

**Summary: Our heroes find themselves in the clutches of the freezing cold, ensnaring with its sickening icy grip, disturbing case and flaming vengeance.**

**Author's note: as you might notice, the story's now rated M due to its content as well as language. I'd like to apologize to those of you who found it too disturbing to read – I really had and still have no intention to offend or hurt anyone's feelings. If I did – I'm sorry. Reader discretion advised.**

**My special thanks go to my beta Shaz1 – I'm very grateful for your kind help. Also thank you guys (tlh45, Sam Waterston Fan, mav32, Shaz1, csi-ncis, Mahala, lily moonlight and gluegirl56) for sharing your opinions. **

**And here's the next chapter. Sorry for the delay, life's a distraction :D tell me what you think!**

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><p><strong>Virgin Cold<strong>

Chapter 3

Sid suddenly notices Mac's face draining of all colour. "You want to sit down?" He questioned as he carefully leads the other man to a chair nearby and watches in concern as Mac wearily slumps in the chair. His elbows resting on his knees, and head in his hands, Sid quickly calls over his assistant, "Nancy, bring us a glass of water, will you?"

Sid and Stella exchange worried looks while Nancy hurries in with a glass of water. "Here, take this," he instructs as he hands Mac the glass and watches as he accepts it with a shaking hand and takes a small sip. "As a Medical Examiner, Mac, I can clearly see that you are not doing so well. Let me have a closer look, okay?"

"I… I'm…" Mac replies hoarsely and rubs his face.

"Fine? Mac, you've almost collapsed!" Stella comments, alarm bells ringing in her mind.

"It's okay… I'm okay now." Mac raises his eyes. "Look, I appreciate your concern, I do, but now it's not the time. We need to catch him before… more bloody letters are sent. I'll be alright."

"I wouldn't be so sure, Mac. You must be running…" Sid begins, but before he is given a chance to finish the sentence, Mac's cell phone starts ringing.

"Taylor."

"Mac, its Flack. Molly Anderson's been reported missing yesterday around 1am. Janice Anderson, her mother, told that little Molly left the apartment around 12:10am. Just to pick up her toy which she left in the playground near her home. The mother came looking for her 15 minutes later but saw no sign of her and called the police. Mrs Anderson is at the precinct right now, but in a minute my man will lead her to the morgue to ID the body."

"Alright, Flack, thanks," Mac hangs up, awkwardly rising from the chair. "Mrs Anderson is here to identify the body of the girl," he informs Sid and Stella, but before they nod, an officer steps in followed by a very unhappy-looking woman with tearful eyes.

"Hello Mrs Anderson, my name's Mac Taylor. This is my colleague Detective Stella Bonasera and Dr Sid Hammerback."

"Hello" she replied, weakly shaking Mac's hand and nodding to Sid and Stella.

"When you are ready, Mrs Anderson," Sid says as he comes closer to the autopsy table and, when the woman silently nods, reveals the girl's face.

"Oh Lord, no! Molly… My dearest Molly…" Janice Anderson sobs, caressing her hair. "She… she said _Mommy, I'll be back in 5 minutes_ and now she will never be back… You see she didn't want me to get up from bed because I was sick, and now… now _she_ will never get up. I should never have let her go alone. Oh God, I should never have let her go alone." She pauses trying to compose herself. "In the morning Molly took her teddy bear outside, she said, to get some fresh air, but forgot to bring it back. And in the evening, she remembered she left Pooh outside and got scared he would get a cold like her mommy did…"

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs Anderson."

"I want to see the rest of her body. I need to see what they did to her," she sniffs, determinacy in her eyes.

"Ma'am, I don't think…" Sid tries.

"Please," she raises her watery gaze to Sid and he hesitantly lifts the sheet up to the girl's waist.

Seeing the most horrible sight before her, she utters a sound of utter terror . _Not my Molly. Not my daughter. _She feels Stella's consoling hand on her forearm, but nothing is consoling anymore, never will be.

"You cut her! Why did you cut her? I never gave my consent!"

"Mrs Anderson, I'm very sorry, but in order to catch whoever is responsible for this, the autopsy, I'm afraid, is a must. We are guided to act by the law and determination to catch the murderers who took the life of your daughter," Stella gently but firmly replies.

"Was…?" Janice cries, "Oh Lord, was she…?" As a sudden realization hits her, she unexpectedly grabs the sheet covering the little body and throws it to the ground.

For a moment, nothing but the silence is heard. Then she quickly turns her angry, full of hatred glare to Mac and shouts furiously, "Taylor? It's you! My Molly had to die because of _you_? Because somebody wanted to prove something to _you_? It's your fault! It's all _your_ fault! You are responsible! It's all your fault! Your fault…"

Mac, speechless and frozen, doesn't answer anything – there was nothing for him to say. He just stands here, staring back with his eyes sunken and guilty.

Nancy rushes in with another glass of water. _That wasn't included in my employment contract_, she thinks. But seeing the unhidden and uncontrollable pain in every gesture and sound of the woman before her, she knows she has to do something to help – that's the least she can do – and to control the situation, too. So she hands the woman a glass of water and gently leads her out of the room, supporting the woman's shoulders as she sobs.

"Mac, you know it's not true," Sid says, squeezing Mac's shoulder, but Mac just stares at the retreating back of the woman for a very long minute, then mutters a silent 'I'm sorry' and storms out of the room.

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><p>"Would you like another cup of coffee, sir?" the same waitress of the same café across the street of the same building asks me. I sat here yesterday watching towards that building I despise waiting for the man I loathe. And today I'm doing the same. <em>It was a very enjoyable day after all. Guess what today will bring me.<em>

"Yes, thank you, dear," I politely smile to the young waitress wondering how old she could be. _Her buns are lovely_. But I notice how she starts flirting with some imbecile at the bar, how she's fluttering her eyelashes at him, swinging a strand of hair around her finger, smiling sweetly, and my interest is lost. _Whore_…

Sitting by the window, I briefly raise my eyes to the sky. The snowflakes are dancing just as graciously as they were yesterday, accompanied by the sounds of the howling wind. People, however, don't seem to notice their graciousness, all hurrying to their safe hideouts from the freezing cold. Ignorant to the beauty, and ignorant to everything around them. _Well, all the better._

And, to my big surprise, I see how Taylor storms through the door of the NYPD building, draws to a stop, runs his hand through his hair and leans against the wall somewhat heavily. Well, I must admit I didn't expect to see him just yet, it's not even evening. But, I think to myself, he must have seen my letter. Yes, he most certainly has! _Doesn't seem very happy though, and I wrote it with such passion!_ I laugh to myself.

Taylor stands there, unmoving, with his head bowed, then a woman hurries towards him. Wait a minute… It's the same woman with curly hair! Now, thankfully, it's not dark, and I can take a better look. Well, she is attractive. For her age, of course. _What does she mean to you, you bastard?_ Apparently, she does care about him. So he, perhaps, feels the same.

I watch her take his hand, talk to him. He doesn't say much, she's the one who does most of the talking. Then she cups his cheek, looking intently into his eyes. Her hand then rises to his forehead, as if to check for a fever. _Fever? Are you sick, Taylor? Now that's interesting. You need plenty of rest, you know. Rest that you will not get for quite a while. Oh, don't worry, you will certainly get your final, _eternal_ rest. When the time comes_, I laugh to myself once again. He, in return, pulls her into a tight embrace. She kisses his cheek, then the embrace becomes more passionate and the tender kiss on the cheek drops to an affectionate and hungry one on the lips.

Their moment of drooling, I notice, is short-lived as Taylor begins to cough violently. The curly-haired woman gently rubs his back before he leans again against the wall, his eyes closed. They stand there for a moment, then she takes him by the arm and leads their way through the door inside the damned building.

_So what did she taste like, Taylor, eh?_ I wonder spreading honey on my Ciabatta bread.

* * *

><p>"Have you calmed down a little?" Stella asks, both slowly heading to Mac's office, and reassuringly brushes his arm.<p>

"She was right, Stella. Her every word was straight to the point." Mac sighs, the woman's words, _all your fault_, still echoing in his head.

"Mac… You know you can't take this this personally. You once said that to me."

"How can I not take it personally, Stella? It _is_ personal. _He_ made it personal. He addressed that letter of his specifically to me. How many more children will die until he finishes what he has to say?"

"Do you really believe he actually has something to say? He only wants to mock you, to taunt you, to push you over the mental edge. Don't let him succeed, Mac."

Mac slumps in his office chair, gazing at an enormous stacks of files he accumulated in his career in the New York Crime Lab with feverish eyes and finally utters, "I'm not planning to," determination in his voice.

"Need a hand with those?"

"Yeah… could actually use a fresh pair of eyes," Mac hoarsely replies and gives a chesty dry cough.

"Um… be right back," Stella voices and, to Mac's surprise, hurries out of his office without another word, quick to emerge with a big fluffy _thing_ in her lap.

A bright smile crosses Stella's face when she sees Mac raise his eyebrow in wonder. "Thought you could really use it right now. It will help you get some warmth," she explains while wrapping the blanket securely around Mac's shoulders.

Suddenly a somewhat excited Danny storms in the room and immediately starts grinning from ear to ear. _Stella tucking in and cuddling Mac. I have got to tell Flack!_ "Whoa! Am I interrupting something?"_ Busted!_

"Have you found anything, Danny?"

"Er… yeah, that knife I told ya about, we got a lead. We got him, Mac. The SWAT teams are ready, ya comin'?"

"No, he's not. Mac's not feeling well," Stella firmly interrupts, before Mac has a chance to oppose.

He, however, does not. "Be careful, Danny. He knows how to use knifes," Mac roughly adds.

"Sure thing. Keep him warm, Stella," Danny winks and hurries out.

Stella's smile, however, quickly fades, "You're sick, Mac, and should be at home."

Yes, he probably should, he knows that. But he can't give in to his body's screaming demand for rest – not just yet. Not until that psycho's put behind bars, where he deserves to be for the rest of his miserable life. "I will, Stell. Once we finish with these. We won't get the trace results for another 24 hours or so, the security footage Adam was working on was too grainy to identify the perp," Mac sighs, "We can't just sit around doing nothing, just waiting for him to make another move. The price is too high."

"Yes, I know. But aren't we just clutching at straws here?" Stella asks not too enthusiastically, viewing seemingly endless stacks of files lined all over the room. _God, she will grow old in here. Ha, at least they will grow old together_, she amusedly smiles inwardly. "So, what exactly are we looking for?"

"Honey. Anything that rings a bell," Mac says, grabbing a file.

For several boring and fruitless hours the still in the room has only been interrupted by Mac's persistent cough. Mac, Stella notices, is really willing to submerge himself into work as best as he can, she, however, beside scanning the files, keeps one eye close on Mac, observing how he begins to shift uncomfortably in his chair, how he pulls the blanket tighter around him, grimaces as he massages his temples or rubs his forehead or chest. Signs, he probably believes will pass unnoticed, but there are too many of them not to be observed. Or they are just too frequent for her liking. _Oh Mac_. "Mac, if you are tired…"

"No, Stell…" Mac croaks.

"Mac, you're getting sicker by the minute. It's time to go home." Stella moves towards Mac, clearly with the intention of pulling him out of the chair and dragging him through the door out of the office, preferably home, where she could safely tuck him into bed.

"Wait… Stella, I've found it."

"You what?" she shouts, obviously in disbelief.

"The Freddo case. Yes, I remember it now," Mac states. "A fifteen-year-old case. Giuseppe Freddo. Before we locked him up, he was teaching biology in the Family Trust Boarding School. The school was intended for troubled teenagers who tended to disobey rules, defy their parents, who had legal issues or behaviour problems. In his classes, however, Giuseppe Freddo applied a distorted approach of discipline, group therapy and peer pressure… He sexually assaulted girls. The victim's body was also rubbed in honey just like Molly Anderson's… He would have continued his _therapy_ if one girl hadn't _accidently_ died," he grimly added.

"You got a call only when a girl was killed? What, nobody reported him before? The girls never complained about his _teaching methods_?"

"He wasn't reported to the police before," Mac shakes his head. "Surely, they tried to complain to their teachers or parents – nobody bothered to pay much attention. They were considered to be troubled teenagers, always disobeying, rebelling – nobody took them seriously. The school's superiors didn't believe them. Giuseppe Freddo was thought to be an honourable man, a respected teacher, a highly qualified expert in his field. I guess, they just didn't care about the girls, they tried to brush everything off so that there weren't any problems for themselves."

"Jesus, Mac. Those girls had no one to turn to… How can this even be happening in school?"

"The school was closed shortly after the scandal. Giuseppe Freddo…" Mac coughs, suddenly out of breath, "…it appeared that he used to molest his daughter too. She was only 8 then. The worst part is that her mother was perfectly aware of what was happening and she did _nothing_ to stop him. All those years she lived with that knowledge without any pricks of conscience."

"My God…"

"I had to make sure they would never hurt Gloria again," Mac clears his throat, "Their parental rights were terminated, as far as I know, Gloria Freddo was raised by her aunt. Giuseppe Freddo got 20 years in Rikers Island…" he pauses. "That doesn't make sense, he should still be in prison. Open his case in the database, Stella."

"Mac, he got released 2 months ago!" Stella shouts.

"I wonder how he wangled it to be released for good behaviour," Mac scornfully adds, "I'm sure it's him, Stella, it's got to be him. The trace results will prove it. This can't be a coincidence."

"We now only have to find that bastard," Stella supplies.

"He might have tried to contact his daughter," Mac croaks as he runs Gloria Freddo's name in the database and sighs, "She has a criminal record too. Was caught numerous times pickpocketing. Shame… But at least we have her details."

"It is something. Finally. I was beginning to feel afraid Flack would have to call for an excavator to dig us out of that mass of papers," Stella chuckles.

"Yeah," Mac manages a small smile, then rubs his face with both hands, "I'll better be going home, Stell, I'm not feeling too great."

_At least he's finally admitting that._ "Take care, Mac. I mean it," Stella firmly says. "Will you be alright?" she softly asks, as he rises from his chair, her voice full of concern.

"Don't worry, Stell, I'll be fine," he assures. "Thank you. And _I_ mean it," he smiles and leaves.

* * *

><p>Mac flings the door of the New York Crime Lab open and is immediately assaulted by the harsh wind, seeping through the bone. <em>So damn cold.<em> He gazes at the piece of paper he's clutching, _448 W 24th St (between Seventh and Eight Aves)_, and makes up his mind. _Just a small detour._

He unclips his badge, takes off his gun, leaving them in his Avalanche – _no need to raise suspicion_ – and heads towards the building with huge shiny neon lights reading 'El Paradiso'. The clientele, as he notices, is broadly varied – from the youngsters who appear to be in their late teens and should not be even allowed in here, to men in suits, probably businessmen, all gloating over and marvelling at the view before them. _Good, he doesn't stand out. _He takes a seat at one of the tables, where he could see everyone around him clearly, and gazes at the object driving all these men crazy. Oh, those women – their makeup bright, their skin glistering in the artificial pink light, barely clothed, if latex underwear and lacy stockings can be counted as clothing, _oh, no clothing left!_ – well, they surely know how to move seductively around that pole. Then he spots her, topless, her black raven hair waiving in the air as she's slowly wiggling her hips towards him. _He got lucky._

"Ciao, bello. Mmm… Sei così sexy," she purrs, running her hand provocatively down her neck, before moving them lower, her face only inches from his, "Would you like a private dance? I can make all your dreams and fantasies come true."


End file.
